Текст книги "The Attic Room: A psychological thriller"
Автор книги: Linda Huber
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Seventeen
Monday 24th July
The second weirdo phone call came the following morning.
Nina was stepping out of the shower when the old-fashioned ring tone trilled upstairs from the study. Cursing, she pulled one of John Moore’s scrubby bath towels round her and ran, almost tripping down the stairs in her rush to get to the phone. It would be a wonder if she made it and a double wonder if Naomi didn’t waken with all this crashing about, but there was something very insistent about the brr-brr sounds emanating from John Moore’s shiny blue eighties telephone. It was impossible to ignore.
‘Hello?’ She perched on the edge of the desk, thankful for the net curtains at the window. Clad in an ancient orange bath towel with her hair pinned roughly on top of her head, she wasn’t quite ready to face the world.
There was an odd little snigger at the other end, and a sick, churning feeling wormed through Nina’s gut. For a second she considered hanging up but remembered in time that the phone was bugged now and the police would be listening in. She wasn’t alone here, she wasn’t alone. All she had to do was keep him on the line.
The same sing-song, high-pitched voice muttered into her ear.
‘Nina, Nina. You pay for my pain or your daughter will suffer. Get your money organised. You’ll hear from me again.’
The line went dead, and Nina slammed the receiver down before crouching on the floor, panting. She had never felt so outraged, so helpless. This disgusting person had threatened Naomi. Dear God, what should she do?
Get the first plane north. Home, home. The thought ran over and over in her head as she ran to make sure the front door was locked, then rushed round checking the ground floor windows and the back door were secure too. There was nothing for her here in Bedford. The business stuff could be finished from Scotland; she could easily keep in touch with Paul by email and phone, and Emily… yes, there was Emily. But even finding an absolute jewel of an aunt had no significance in comparison to Naomi’s safety. This caller – was it George Wright? – had made a definite threat now.
Loneliness crept through Nina as she realised there was no one she could call for moral support. Cruel to phone Beth, who would be in the middle of preparing heaven knows how many different breakfasts. Sam was miles away and couldn’t help with this anyway. She would have to let Paul know that the blackmailer and anonymous caller, who might well be his own father, had struck again, but – dear God, would Paul really want to know? He would only be hurt and ashamed. Hot tears stung Nina’s eyes and she rubbed her face impatiently. This was no time to go soft. Phone the police, woman, see what they have to say.
David Mallony was terse on the phone. ‘It’s as if he knew the phone was bugged. The call was from a landline but that’s all we know. Nina, I think you ought to go to a hotel. You and Naomi shouldn’t be alone in that house after such a direct threat.’
Miserably, Nina agreed. All she wanted was to sit on the bench outside the farmhouse and watch the waves shiver up the beach below, but she needed at least another day here. She had to talk properly to the police, and she wanted to see Paul again and ask him more about their families in the days when she and Claire lived here. He might know something that would explain why Claire had spread the myth about her husband’s death. And there must be something – a huge, enormous something – that they didn’t know yet, because Claire wouldn’t have told that lie lightly.
Nina stood in the study, tapping her fingers on the desktop. What on earth was she supposed to do with Naomi while she was talking to David Mallony and Paul? Her daughter would be one large question mark if she realised there was more going on than she knew about.
Sam’s parents slid into Nina’s head as she trailed back upstairs to dress. Maybe she should take Cassie up on that offer to babysit. With Naomi at the Harrison’s, she’d have time to sort things out with David, talk to Paul, and get packed. Afterwards she and Naomi could find a hotel near Emily so they could both visit before flying north again.
Naomi was awake, and Nina explained the babysitting idea. It was a good job the Harrisons had a dog, she thought, amused when this was the first thing Naomi thought of.
‘You get dressed, and I’ll phone and ask,’ said Nina, heading for the stairs.
Heavens, all this and she hadn’t even had a coffee yet. And actually she should call Paul first, while Naomi was safely under the shower.
His voice on the phone was deeper than in real life, and he sounded delighted to hear from her. ‘Nina! I’ve been remembering some of the things we got up to as kids, and I’ve found a couple more old snaps, too – we must get together and – Nina?’
Impossible to keep her own voice steady while she told him about the second call. She could feel his concern through the phone.
‘Oh God, you must wish you’d never come anywhere near here. I think it’s a great idea to find someone to take care of Naomi. Or – tell you what, I can come and stay in the house with you tonight, save you going to a hotel. I can easily stop work early today.’
‘Oh – I couldn’t ask you to do that, Paul. Thanks anyway. If the Harrisons can help we’ll be fine.’
‘Nina, it’s not a problem. Think of everything we went through as kids. Our fathers weren’t into helping family and my mother wasn’t much better. Now we have the chance to do better. And I’d love to have another look at those photos.’
He was right, thought Nina. If Beth or Tim had made the offer she knew she wouldn’t have hesitated. And what had Emily said – little Nina used to think Paul was wonderful when they were small? It would be good to have the chance to get to know him better.
‘Okay – thanks. Could you maybe come by in the afternoon? We could talk about everything then, and take it from there.’
Paul agreed to come at four, and Nina rang off, glad about her decision. It made a real difference to have someone there in the background, a family member, too, to lend a hand.
She booted up the laptop and went into the telephone directory to find the Harrisons’ number. For a second she hesitated – what should she tell Cassie? Simply that she had a lot of dry and dusty business stuff going on and Naomi was bored out of her skull seemed the best way. Which, when you thought about it, was the exact truth – from Naomi’s point of view at least.
‘Nina, of course! It must be awkward for you. Why don’t you let her stay here overnight? That would give you more time.’
Nina heaved a sigh of relief. A sleepover with a dog wouldn’t be a hard sell, and then her mind would be at rest about her girl. ‘Thanks, Cassie, I’ll bring Naomi later this morning if that’s okay. I’ll have to talk to her about spending the night but I’m sure she’ll agree. It’s a load off my mind to have someone take care of her.’
It was shortly after eleven when Nina pulled up outside the Harrison’s house. The hired car was a larger vehicle than she was used to driving, and it took her three goes to get into the tight space at the side of the road.
She made a face at Naomi. ‘How to look seriously un-cool in one easy lesson,’ she said, and Naomi giggled.
‘Chill, Mom. I think you’re real cool,’ she said, with a phoney American accent.
Nina looked at her girl, grinning at her from the passenger seat, her hair scraped into a high pony tail. How very much she loved Naomi. If anything happened to her little girl because of all this John Moore stuff… it would be unbearable. Impossible to live with herself if even a hair on Naomi’s head was harmed. Damn the anonymous caller to hell.
Cassie and Glen came out to greet them.
‘Can I really stay the night?’ said Naomi, as Cassie hugged her. ‘And where’s Kira?’
‘Of course you can. Your room’s all ready, and Kira’s waiting for you in the kitchen,’ said Cassie. ‘We’ll take her for a walk later on, but first Glen could do with another pair of hands to finish the fence, couldn’t you, love?’
Nina carried Naomi’s bag inside, her heart warming. Cassie and Glen were obviously delighted with their young visitor, and Naomi, who knew nothing about the second threatening call, was equally enthusiastic. Nina grinned as she watched her daughter struggle into a pair of Glen-sized overalls. It was plain Naomi could hardly wait to get her hands on a paint brush.
Cassie walked back to the car with her. ‘Nina, are you quite sure you don’t want to stay here tonight too? There’s plenty of space. I don’t like to think of you rattling around in your father’s house all by yourself.’
Nina was touched – there were good people in the world. She should remember that in the midst of all this. ‘Don’t worry, Cassie. My cousin’s coming and he’ll probably stay over. There’s a lot I have to go through with him before Naomi and I head north. I’ll phone this evening and let you know what’s going on. And thank you more than I can say for taking Naomi like this. It makes all the difference.’
Cassie gave her a brief hug. ‘I’ll leave you to phone Sam, will I, and let him know what’s happening.’
Nina smiled as she drove off. Cassie was doing a bit of match-making there – and what did she think about that?
David Mallony ushered her into his office and was approving when he heard about Naomi’s new home.
‘Good. We don’t know what the blackmailer’s planning,’ he said. ‘If he phones again, try to keep the line open for as long as you can. Talk to him. That’d give us more time to pinpoint the call.’
‘Do you think he knows the police are involved?’
‘Oh yes, but he’ll think he can make you comply now without telling us. I have a feeling it’ll be a letter next time, with a demand for money, and I think it’ll come by post in the morning. He won’t want to risk being seen near the house. So it would be better if you stay on until tomorrow at least.’
Nina sat staring at the glass paperweight on David’s desk. What he said sounded logical, and it was reassuring to know the blackmailer was unlikely to appear on the doorstep. She turned back to David Mallony. Now for the difficult question.
‘What have you found out about – John Moore?’
‘There was a large number of pornographic images involving children on his computer. We’re investigating to see if that was as far as it went. I can’t tell you any more at the moment, Nina.’
In a way Nina was relieved. Maybe it was easier if she didn’t know the ins and outs of what her father had done. A thought struck her – why on earth hadn’t he disposed of the laptop? He’d got rid of bags full of shredded paper. What was on the shredded paper that wasn’t on the laptop?
‘Contact details for other paedophiles, I imagine.’ David Mallony sounded depressed when she asked him. ‘Leave it to us, Nina; you don’t need to know the details.’
Nina was glad to accept this. She told David Mallony about meeting Emily Moore and Paul, and he listened, an interested expression on his face.
‘Good for you. But you know, it’s not at all certain this blackmailer is George Wright. He does have a record, but he’s been pretty quiet for the last six or seven years. We’re keeping an open mind there.’
Back at the house, Nina started to organise her belongings for a possible departure the next day, then went to look at the photos on the table. Paul wanted to see them again; she would leave them here in the meantime. The ‘people’ snaps were laid out in groups, with the ‘non-people’ ones in a pile at the side.
She picked up a photo of herself as a young child with Claire and John Moore. It was so frustrating that she remembered so little. She had a hazy memory of the house, more a sense of familiarity than an actual memory. There was the horrible feeling that John Moore might have been abusive in some way. But maybe she only felt that because she know about the pornography on his computer… and because Claire must have had a powerful reason for that enormous, long-term lie. Was this what Claire had been trying to say, moments before she lost consciousness? Nina swallowed.
What had her mother known?
Nina’s mobile buzzed at half past three while she was packing Naomi’s remaining things. And after she’d left this house – which might even be today, if Paul couldn’t stop overnight with her – she would never stay here again. And oh, the relief was incredible – she literally felt lighter.
Sam’s voice was upbeat. ‘Hi, Nina. I’m between meetings. How’s things?’
‘Okay,’ said Nina cautiously. ‘I was about to phone you. I guess you haven’t spoken to your parents today?’
‘No. Why?’
In as few words as possible, she told him what was going on. Sam was horrified.
‘But Nina, of course you have to go to Mum’s! You don’t know this weirdo isn’t going to come to the house. It’s much too risky!’
‘I won’t stay here unless Paul can stay with me,’ said Nina, trying to sound reassuring. ‘And I’ll make sure all the doors and windows are locked, don’t worry. David Mallony doesn’t think the blackmailer will come here, anyway.’
Sam, however, was not to be reassured. ‘David can’t possibly know that for sure. And for heaven’s sake, you don’t know Paul Wright, and his being related to your father and George Wright is hardly a recommendation, is it?’
Startled, Nina thought of Paul’s gentle brown eyes and the way his hair fell over his forehead. Maybe she didn’t know him, but he was family – he’d been part of her life all those years ago. They connected.
‘Sam, I’m related to John Moore and George Wright in the same way as Paul is. Sometimes you just have to trust people. Two weeks ago I didn’t know you existed either.’
It was the wrong thing to say. Sam’s voice was tight when he replied.
‘Well, I can say the same about you, but I think I’d trust you over a stranger with a criminal family background. I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way. I thought we were friends.’
His last sentence sounded nothing but petulant. Nina gripped her phone, biting back an angry retort. She had neither time nor energy for this right now. She forced herself to sound calm.
‘Sam, I don’t need any more hassle here. Paul’s due any minute so I’m going to hang up. I’ll let you know what happens.’
She put the phone down and stared at it. Had she been too hard on poor Sam? No, she was in charge of her own life and it was up to her what she did and where she stayed. Though in a way Sam was right too, because even if Paul was her cousin, she had no idea how trustworthy he was. Sam came with the recommendation of being a lawyer, but Paul had no such testimonial. It was always tempting to judge people by your own standards, she thought, running upstairs to check that the lock on her bedroom door worked. It did, and the door was solid oak.
Nina smiled suddenly – locking her bedroom door wouldn’t be unnecessary. Paul felt like family in the same way Emily did. Maybe she could persuade him to come with her and Naomi to visit Emily tomorrow. Somehow she didn’t think Paul saw much of their great-aunt, and it would be interesting to know why not. Of course, maybe he simply wasn’t into visiting family, but you’d think a sense of duty would prompt the odd visit. Or was that more of a girl-thing?
Paul appeared at twenty past four, clutching a well-used sports bag and a bottle of wine.
‘All ready to stay, as you see,’ he said, grinning at her, and Nina relaxed.
It was all right. This was her cousin – well, second cousin or whatever, and he was going out of his way to help her.
She accepted the bottle. ‘Cabernet Sauvignon. One of my favourites. How did you know?’
He looked pleased. ‘It’s one of mine too. Must be a family trait.’
‘Is your girlfriend – Melanie, isn’t it? – okay about you staying here tonight?’ she asked, and he nodded.
‘She’s going out with friends anyway. I brought a sleeping bag so if you give me a mattress somewhere I’ll be fine.’
Nina showed him into the little room beside the kitchen and he dropped his bag on the bed.
‘What would you like to eat?’ she asked, watching him roll out his sleeping bag. ‘We don’t do gourmet meals in this house but I could make spaghetti, or we can send out for pizza.’
‘Let’s send out,’ he said. ‘Pizza’s easier to eat when you’re looking at photos and things. Can I have a look round the house, please? I was here a lot as a kid but I haven’t seen it properly for years.’
Nina gave him a guided tour. He showed her which bedroom had been hers as a child, and told her about the time the two of them unravelled all Nina’s children’s cassettes and tied the upstairs doors together with the mess of tape.
‘It was no ice cream for us that day,’ he said, grinning. ‘Our mums were not amused.’
Nina laughed. This was exactly the kind of thing she wanted to hear, little stories about her life. She stood in the doorway of her old bedroom, which now contained an anonymous single bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. What wouldn’t she give for a clear memory of those days, but nothing was coming to mind. Disappointed, she turned back to Paul, now gazing into the room she and Naomi were occupying.
‘Those blue vases were your mum’s, you know. She bought blue ones for herself and green ones for my mum. It must have been just shortly before you left.’
Nina hugged her arms round her middle, staring at the vases. How amazing – the only beautiful things in John Moore’s house, almost, and they were Claire’s. A little part of Claire still here in Bedford. She would take them home when they left.
In the attic room, Paul walked down to the far end where the mattresses lay, then turned and stared back towards the door, the expression on his face unreadable. He was breathing heavily, Nina noticed – what was going through his mind? She was still wondering what to say when he came out of his trance and grinned at her.
‘I think you should do this place up to rent out. You could easily have it turned into flats, and the way the market is at the moment that might be a better investment than selling.’
‘I know,’ said Nina. ‘Nothing’s decided yet.’
No way was she going to keep this house, she thought, following Paul downstairs. She wanted to be able to draw a very definite line under John Moore and his sleaze.
Paul settled down with the photos while Nina phoned for pizza and opened the wine. When she went back to the living room he was engrossed in the ‘non-people’ pile, not even reacting when she made a remark about the small size of most of these photos. Nina put his wine glass down beside him and went to phone Cassie to say she’d be quite all right tonight. It would be her last night under her father’s roof. And thank God for that.
Chapter Eighteen
The pizzas were good, a Mediterranean veggie topping on a thin, crisp base, and Nina made a green salad to go with them. Working in John Moore’s kitchen was a bit like camping, she thought ruefully, having searched in vain for a salad bowl. Judging by the appliances and the meagre selection of kitchen utensils, her father’s cooking had consisted of heating things in the microwave and opening tins. Of course maybe he’d eaten out most of the time – he’d certainly been able to afford it. What an odd set-up this was. John Moore was so well-off, yet he’d chosen to live in this place, which was solid and warm but – dowdy. Yes, that was a good word to describe the house. But when you thought about his collection of paedophilic pictures it all became sick and sordid, too. So maybe the dowdiness hadn’t mattered to John Robert Moore.
She and Paul ate in the living room, each ensconced in a corner of the sofa as the table was covered with photos. Nina was silent, pity almost closing her throat as Paul spoke of his mother’s struggle to make ends meet. It didn’t make for a cheerful mealtime conversation.
His childhood had been nothing like her own. After the split with his father, Paul’s mother gave up the fight to provide for her child, and lived on social security. Alcohol had played a big part in Jane Wright’s life, too. So while Nina was watching her mother and grandparents struggle to start their business on Arran, Paul was watching his mother drink herself into her grave. How dreadful for him.
‘What happened to you then?’ she asked gently, but he looked away, shaking his head.
‘Nothing worth remembering today. I survived, thanks to social services, and here we both are, back in John Moore’s house as adults. You can survive anything, you know.’
He took a large swallow of wine. Nina frowned. It was difficult to see what he meant by ‘survive’ and it didn’t look as if he was about to enlarge on it. Poor Paul. She had always been loved and cared for, but it sounded as if no one had loved Paul after his mother died.
He wiped his fingers on the paper napkin provided by the pizza company. ‘Almost forgot,’ he said, going over to the table. ‘I found your father’s parents here. Look.’
He lifted three black and white prints, and Nina took them eagerly. John Moore senior, her grandfather, and his young wife Sylvia. They must have been in their twenties here, standing side by side beside a bandstand, presumably in some park or other, uncertain smiles for the camera and uncomfortable, formal-looking clothes. Perhaps they’d been out for a Sunday walk – people had worn ‘Sunday best’ in those days. Nina stared, trying in vain to read their expressions and feeling the enormous distance separating them from her life today. What had John and Sylvia Moore done to turn their son into such a monster? Or maybe it wasn’t their fault, maybe young John had gone off the rails by himself. You couldn’t blame parents for everything. Paul handed her another photo showing a trio of people in various shades of grey.
‘My parents with Aunt Emily,’ he said.
Nina took the photos. Black and white pictures of days gone by. She searched round for a pen and paper. ‘Let’s number them, and write down who’s on which photo.’
They sat at the table, Paul numbering the photos and providing the names and Nina writing the list. Halfway down her page she squinted at him uneasily. He wasn’t happy doing this, so much was clear. His earlier good humour was gone and his answers to her questions were getting shorter all the time. At last they came to the end of the first pile; Paul numbered the final black and white ‘people’ photo and Nina wrote down the names, Emily and her sister Ruth, Paul’s grandmother. Family photos, and dear God, what had gone on behind the scenes in the Moore family?
‘Thank you,’ she said, putting her hand on his arm. ‘I can see it isn’t easy for you, revisiting the past like this. I’ll take the ones you don’t know to Emily tomorrow and see if she can add anything. Or – would you be able to come too? I’d be going in the morning, before we fly home.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m due another visit. But tomorrow’s impossible, I’m afraid. Give her my love.’
Nina hesitated, uneasiness creeping over her. She couldn’t put a finger on it but her previous rapport with Paul had vanished, and something about what he’d just said didn’t ring true. According to Emily, Paul hadn’t visited her for years. Maybe he was too ashamed to admit it, but why would he cut all ties with his great-aunt? Confusion spread through Nina. There was something he wasn’t telling her here and it was important, she could see that. Looking at those photos had stirred something up in his head… oh dear God… was this something to do with John Moore and the nasty photos… oh fuck… had Paul been on any of those photos? Could that be? The crying in the attic memory crashed back into Nina’s brain. Screaming, she remembered the sound now, even – but had she screamed – or Paul? What had happened back then? But before she could say anything Paul flung his pen down on the table.
‘God! Emily was the only one of them who was nice to me,’ he burst out. ‘My grandparents were all ‘children should be seen and not heard’. But Emily was cool.’
‘What about your parents, and mine? Were they strict too?’ said Nina carefully.
He was in a strange mood now, looking at her with over-bright eyes and pouring them both a generous second glass of wine. Nina sipped, then put her glass on the table. She didn’t want to get plastered and she’d already had a big glass. Hopefully the pizza would mop it up.
Paul flung himself down on the sofa and buried his head in his hands. Nina’s heart began to race. What was he going to tell her?
‘Your mother had the right idea,’ he said at last, lifting his head and staring at her.
The brightness in his eyes was unshed tears, and she passed him a tissue without speaking.
He blew his nose and went on. ‘Your mam got you out. Mine disappeared into a bottle.’
‘What are you saying?’ whispered Nina. Her stomach started to heave. ‘Paul? What happened?’
He reached for another tissue and started ripping it into shreds. ‘They hired – us – out,’ he said, spitting the words at her. ‘What do you think?’
‘Hired – how?’ Nina’s voice came out in a croak and her hands holding the tissue packet began to shake. For a few seconds the world around her hummed and it was as if the colours in the drab living room were turning silver. Quickly, she put her head between her knees. When the faintness passed she leaned back again. Paul was staring at nothing and twirling his empty wine glass. He wouldn’t meet her eye.
‘Our fathers?’ said Nina.
He nodded, still not looking at her. Nina raised her hands to her face. Dear God, what the shit had she been through in this house?
‘Are you saying we were abused here in this house and our fathers collected money for it?’
Paul gave a loud moan and jumped to his feet, pacing up and down in front of the disused fireplace. ‘Oh yes. Money, that’s all we were worth. They took photos, too. My dad was great with a camera, you know.’ His voice broke on the last word.
Nina clapped her hands to her mouth, feeling her eyes widen in horror. Dear Christ in heaven, this was worse than anything she’d ever imagined. His eyes held hers, and she could see the horror and the loathing he had felt back then; she could see how it was affecting his life today, how he could never get away from it.
‘You mean we were – raped?’ It was difficult to get the words out.
Paul laughed mirthlessly. ‘I was. I don’t know if you were. Maybe not. You were so young, and there was the necessity to give you back to your mother more or less in one piece, you see. Mine was usually too smashed to notice. It was all so fucking sordid and it hurt, Nina, it hurt like hell.’
Nina leapt up and ran to the narrow downstairs toilet, her hands over her mouth. Her gut cramped tightly as she vomited pizza and red wine into the bowl. Dear God. Why, why, didn’t she remember any of this? How old had she been? Two, three?
And shit, shit – but Claire couldn’t have known about that. Quite definitely not.
Could she?
The spasm over, she rinsed her face and drank from her cupped hands. Paul was waiting in the passageway, his eyes dull. He hugged her, saying nothing, and Nina held on tightly, breathing deeply and feeling the tension in her gut slacken. She knew the worst now, and she would have to learn to cope with it. She would get over this, because if she didn’t, John Moore would have won. That wasn’t going to happen.
Back in the living room, she took a cautious sip of wine.
‘My mother can’t have known,’ she said, leaning back in the sofa.
Paul glared at the floor. ‘Mine did. I told her after you left. I don’t know if she did anything, but nothing changed over the next couple of years. Except it happened to me more often because you weren’t there anymore. And then there was all the stuff with the business going down the pan. Mam and me moved away and the abuse stopped. I’ve never told anyone else.’
Nina felt physically drained, as if she’d run a marathon. Her muscles hurt. The thought of what had happened to her made her feel soiled, wasted, but she knew this was the feeling she would have to change. She had been an innocent child, she had not been made dirty by these people. Tomorrow she would tell all this to the police and then she would start the rest of her life.
Paul leaned towards her, and she saw how his hands were shaking.
‘I wanted to kill him for a long time,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘Both of them, Dad and Uncle John. When I was older I even bought a gun, but they were enemies by that time and I never got the two of them in the same place at the same time and that was what I wanted. I wanted to pull the trigger on your father and watch the fear in Dad’s eyes while I did it. And then I wanted to kill him too. But it didn’t work out.’
Nina grasped his hand and squeezed it. The anger was understandable; she felt it too. Maybe she always would.
‘You should get counselling, Paul,’ she said, feeling his hand shake in hers. ‘That’s what I’ll do, I think. We need help to get over this. Dear God. My own father.’ She had seen him in his coffin and she had never known. Shit, she had looked at him and felt pity.
There was nothing left to say that evening. Nina went to bed and dozed fitfully for a while, waking every time the house creaked or a car drove by outside. At three in the morning she found herself wide awake, and shivered. This was no good, she’d be dead on her feet in the morning if she didn’t get some proper sleep. She would make hot chocolate and take a headache pill, heaven knows her head felt the size of an over-ripe water-melon. She’d had too much wine and she’d lost the pizza.
There was silence in the little room beside the kitchen. Nina put a mug of milk into the microwave and when the drink was made she wandered through the dark hallway to the study and sat down at the desk.
More than anything else she wanted to have a heart-to-heart with Bethany, but she couldn’t possibly ring up at this time of night about something that happened when she was two years old. She would phone tomorrow. And she would phone Sam and – yes, she would go and stay with Cassie. There would be more interviews with the police now; she and Naomi wouldn’t get back to Scotland tomorrow. Nina sobbed silently for a few minutes, bent over shiny mahogany. Why, why had she come here? The legacy had brought her nothing but grief.
