Читать книгу The Mother’s Lies - Joanne Sefton - Страница 9

Katy

She recognised the stern, mustachioed face of the policeman who came towards them, though she wouldn’t be able to name him. As Mr Robertson opened the door for Katy, the officer held out a pair of handcuffs, gaping open, the metal glinting in the sunshine.

‘I don’t think we’ll need those, thank you.’ Mr Robertson’s tone was firm, and the other man frowned.

‘Protocol—’ he began, but Mr Robertson cut him off.

‘I have custody of the prisoner. Miss Silver and I are content that nothing untoward will happen, and if it does, then we’ll be the ones to answer for it.’

‘For the sake of the family, though,’ the officer tried again, waving towards a large white estate car, painted with the letters ‘POLICE’. Katy supposed that Etta was inside.

‘Mrs Gardiner is here to try to find her child, not to see Katy Clery humiliated. You can put the handcuffs away.’

Katy wasn’t so sure that she agreed with Mr Robertson on why Etta Gardiner wanted to be there, but the policeman finally did as he was asked. A few of his colleagues had made their way over during the discussion, and Mr Robertson exchanged pleasantries with the inspector in charge. The plan was that they would initially walk across the site onto the adjacent farmland, to the vicinity where it was believed that Katy must have accessed the site a year earlier, coming from the railway station. Katy turned and walked with them, keeping close to Miss Silver so as to not give the police any excuse to pull out the handcuffs again. None of the adults talked to her, although she was all they were talking about.

A few seconds after they had passed the motorway patrol car, she heard its door open and the rustle of a passenger getting out. Risking a glance back, she saw she had been right. It was Etta, not in fur this time, but instead in a black, shapeless dress and jacket, a dark-dyed straw hat pressed low on her brow. Their eyes met, and for a moment Katy thought she saw sadness rather than anger. Then the woman turned deliberately to one side, away from the constable at her shoulder, and spat coolly onto the tarmac. The hatred, when she lifted her eyes back to Katy, was clear.

Katy fought back the tears prickling behind her own eyes and continued to walk forward. Soon the police started to slow. They were nearing the edge of the site. The tarmac of the car park ended, and there was a thin strip of scrub before a wire fence. Someone had cut a gap. There was a neat roll of fencing wire stacked to one side – ready to fix it quickly so everything was shipshape for the grand opening, she supposed.

There were nettles around the fence, and as they made their way into the field, the ground became soft and uneven. Katy, now used to the confines of Ashdown with its paved yard and endless linoleum corridors, felt herself stumble. The smells of the wet earth, of the green grass, buzzed in her mind.

‘Well,’ said the inspector, suddenly turning to face back towards the service station and the motorway beyond it. ‘Do you recognise it? Are you planning to tell us anything, or just to waste everyone’s time again?’