Losing You by Nicci French Page B

get my jacket on…’
    ‘Have you got a mobile?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Call me if there’s any news.’
    ‘Are you staying here?’
    ‘The police are coming.’
    ‘Oh.’ Her face became grave. She glanced sideways at Jackson and pulled her features into unconvincing cheeriness. ‘Right, then,’ she said heartily. ‘Let’s be off. Lead on, Macduff.’
    ‘What?’
    At any other time, I would have laughed at the sight of Sludge racing down the road with her demented crab-like gait, red tongue lolling and ears turned inside out, pulling Renata after her in a stiff-legged, braking run. Jackson jogged behind them, looking like a troll in his oversized skiing jacket.
    I went back into the house. Where were the police? They’d said just a few minutes. The timer-clock on the oven told me it was eleven fifty-three. I picked up a small bunch of flowers and put my face into the satin cool of their petals, thinking furiously. She’d left the sleepover at between nine and nine thirty and I knew she’d gone straight to the newsagent…
    The bell rang and I ran to the door.
    ‘Nina Landry?’
    The man who stood there was quite short and stout, and he wore a uniform that was slightly too tight for him. He had short brown hair and jug ears. His face was weathered and inappropriately cheerful. ‘PC Mahoney,’ he said.
    ‘Come in,’ I said. ‘Mind the broken glass.’
    We walked through the living room, which looked a bit like a crime scene, and into the chaos of the kitchen. He probably expected me to offer him tea but I didn’t have time for that. I pulled out a chair for him, sat down myself at the littered table and looked at him. He pushed away a bowl of crisps, pulled out a notebook and a pen, licked his finger and flipped over several pages. He wrote the date at the top, then glanced at his watch and wrote the time as well: 11.54, I read upside-down.
    ‘Let me take a few details.’
    ‘I’ve already done that. When I called.’
    ‘Your daughter’s full name and age?’
    ‘I already gave it,’ I said. ‘To the woman at the police station.’
    ‘Please,’ he said.
    ‘Charlotte Landry Oates. Landry after me and Oates after her father,’ I added, forestalling his next question.
    ‘Is Mr Oates here?’
    ‘He doesn’t live with us,’ I said, and watched the expression on his face become shrewd as I said it. ‘He left at the start of the year.’ I didn’t wait for his next question. ‘Charlie’s fifteen. She was born on the third of February.’
    ‘So she’s nearly sixteen.’
    ‘Yes, but – ’
    ‘And when did she go missing? The duty officer said it was just an hour or so ago.’
    ‘I don’t know exactly. She was at a sleepover, and then she did her paper round. I was out, doing errands, and I expected her to be here when I got back, which was later than I’d thought because on the spur of the moment I rang up a friend to look at my car and then – oh, that doesn’t matter. The point is, she wasn’t here when I got back.’
    ‘And that would have been when?’
    I remembered Karen telling Eamonn, as he shuffled out of the door of their house in his bare feet and trench coat, that it was gone half past ten. And when I’d gone into Charlie’s room her sheep clock had sounded the hour.
    ‘It must have been about eleven. She wasn’t there and that was odd because we’re going on holiday. Were going on holiday. I don’t think we’ll make it now. We needed to leave at one or one thirty at the latest, and she was going to come home and pack. Plus she arranged this party for me. I wouldn’t have worried otherwise, but this makes no sense. She was so excited. We’ve been planning this for ages.’
    ‘Where are you going for your holiday?’
    ‘Florida,’ I said impatiently.
    ‘Nice. Just the three of you?’
    ‘Four. My boyfriend is coming as well.’
    ‘New boyfriend?’
    ‘Quite, why does that – ’
    ‘Does your daughter get on with him?’
    ‘Yes. I mean, there’ve been…but yes,