Page 62 of Worse Than Murder
‘Did he come alone?’
‘No. Travis Montgomery came with him.’
‘And your dad?’
Her face takes on a pained expression as she tries to remember. ‘I… I don’t know. He worked at Dudgeons, and they were on strike at the time. There was nobody in the office answering the phones and they didn’t have mobiles back then. I don’t think he came home until much later. By the time he did, the house was full of police.’
I don’t say anything.
‘I’m not stupid, you know,’ Alison says, her voice much sterner. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I know what everyone else in the village is thinking, too. Dad took my sisters. He killed them for whatever reason and did a runner.’ She turns on her heel and heads back into the cottage.
I follow.
‘I’m not thinking that at all, Alison. I don’t know your dad. I don’t know your family. All I do know is that there are plenty of unanswered questions and the only person who I can ask them to is you.’
‘Why me?’ she asks, turning to face me. We’re in the kitchen, standing beneath the dull strip-lighting. Alison’s face is wet with tears.
‘Because you were the only eyewitness to two tragic events. You were there when your sisters were taken, and you were there when your father disappeared. You know what happened.’
Alison slumps into a chair at the table. ‘But I can’t remember,’ she says, her words almost lost to her tears. ‘I’ve tried. I can’t remember anything.’
‘Because you don’t want to.’
‘Why wouldn’t I want to?’
I leave the question unanswered. The reason why Alison can’t remember is because she’s afraid of the truth.
The sun is setting over the Lake District. After the violence of the storm last night, tonight is one of calm. The sky is clear except for a few whispers of cloud. As the sun lowers, the sky is lit up in a brilliant red. The patrons of Nature’s Diner can’t take their eyes from the view out of the sprawling picture windows.
Upstairs, I stand in the living room looking out over the lake. To the left, I can make out the shadowed figures of the North West Underwater Search and Marine Unit still at the scene, lit up by arc lights.
Glass of wine in hand, I take another long swig, as I watch the drama unfold. I had seen a car. I know it. I’d only seen it for a few seconds. All I had wanted to do was identify that something was there, then I came back up to the surface for air. But there is definitely a car on the bed of Lake Windermere. Definitely. Isn’t there?
‘My bloody shoes are killing me,’ Sally says as she bursts into the living room. ‘Where are my flats? I’m sure I left them… ah, here they are.’ She sits down on the sofa and pulls off her heeled shoes. ‘Nearly three hundred pounds these cost me. I’ve worn them four times and they’ve cut my feet to ribbons every single time. Phil will go mad when he finds out. I put them through the business.’ She snorts a laugh. ‘Are they still down there?’
I turn from the window. ‘Sorry?’
‘I asked if the police are still down there.’
‘Yes. They’ve put on the arc lights now.’
‘They must think something’s there, or they’d have gone home by now, especially with the light fading.’
‘Of course, there’s something down there. It’s a car. I know what I saw,’ I say, almost snapping.
‘I’m not doubting you, Mat.’
‘No. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m doubting myself. My head’s all over the place at the moment. I keep trying to remember some of the exercises my therapist back in Sheffield told me about. My mind is blank. It’s just fog in there.’
Sally stands up. New shoes on, she limps over to me and put her arms around me. I tense up. I hate myself for doing so. ‘You can’t expect to be thinking clearly at the moment. You’re going through a massive trauma. I was the same when Carl went missing. Looking back, I can’t remember a single thing of those early days. Did I eat? Did I sleep? Did I have a shower? Did I work? It’s all a haze. You need time to come to terms with everything that’s happened. And it’s going to take longer than a few weeks in the countryside. Also, getting involved with whatever’s going on out there isn’t going to help you at all.’
‘I know.’
‘So, why are you standing by the window watching all the action?’
‘Morbid curiosity.’
‘Well, you’re right with morbid. Look, why don’t you come down to the restaurant? You can sit at the end of the bar, drink wine, eat olives and help me wind Phil up about the lack of parking spaces.’
