The Girl in the Ice

71

‘I’ve had a message from the boss,’ said Moss, when she came into the incident room. Peterson had arrived at the same time, bringing in a tray of coffee. He was handing them out to the officers who were arriving bleary-eyed and taking off their coats.

‘She wants us to go ahead and bring Linda back first for questioning.’

‘Has her solicitor showed up yet?’ asked Peterson.

‘Yeah, I just saw him in reception. He doesn’t look happy, being pulled in at this ungodly hour.’

‘Oh well, it will all be over by nine,’ said PC Singh, coming up and going to grab the last coffee.

‘Sorry. I need that one,’ snapped Moss. ‘Go and get one from the machine.’

‘That was a bit harsh,’ said Peterson, when Singh had walked off.

‘She made it sound like we’re just clock-watching until nine am . . . Like it’s a formality.’

‘Isn’t it?’ asked Peterson, awkwardly.

‘No,’ said Moss, pointedly. ‘Now listen, the boss has had an idea . . .’

72

Linda’s bedroom was small and gloomy. A sash window with a deep cushioned window seat overlooked the garden, and from above Erika could see that the lawn was still dotted with a few patches of dirty snow. A heavy dark wardrobe stood beside the window. The door creaked as Erika opened it. On one side hung a selection of dark voluminous skirts; next to these was a block of crisply ironed white blouses, some with lacework on the collar; and the rest of the wardrobe was taken up by a huge selection of cat jumpers, all thick and heavy. At the bottom of the wardrobe was a jumble of court shoes, some sensible sandals, a pair of powder-blue running shoes, a dusty pair of ice skates, and a pink Thighmaster.

A single bed with a dark wood frame was tucked in the corner against the back wall, and above its curved wooden headboard was a thick metal crucifix. A line of toy cats sat guard on the neatly made patchwork bedspread. They were arranged in descending height order. Their Disney-esque eyes looked heartbreakingly optimistic amongst the sad gloom. Erika paused for a moment to consider that Linda had made her bed and arranged the cats before she was hauled into a police car.

On the bedside table was a small, Tiffany-style lamp, and a little curved plastic box containing a clear plastic bite guard. There was also a small picture in a frame taken a few years back, of Linda sitting on a swing chair in the garden with a beautiful black cat on her lap. It had white fur on its paws. Erika picked up the frame and turned it over, unhooking the metal clasps and pulling off the cardboard backing. On the back of the photo, in a neat hand was written:

My darling boy, Boots, and me.

Erika held onto the photo as she carried on looking around. An old-fashioned secretary desk in matching dark wood was against the wall at the end of the bed. It was filled with pens and a girly stationery set. A large square in the dust showed where the police had removed Linda’s laptop. A dressing table between the window and the secretary desk held the bare minimum of make-up, a large pot of E45 cream and a bag of cotton wool balls. A brush lay on its side, and strands of Linda’s mousy hair caught the light from the window. Beside the door was a large bookcase crammed with novels by Jackie Collins and Judith Krantz, and scores of historical romance novels. There were a couple of photos from the family holidays in Croatia, Portugal, and Slovakia – mainly of Linda and Andrea with various stray cats – and there was a photo of Linda standing at the base of a cliff with a large tanned guy with dirty blond hair. Linda wore climbing gear and a red plastic hard hat. She was grinning so hard that the chinstrap cut into her shiny tanned face. There was nothing written on the back of the photo.

On the wall beside the door was a large pinboard with a photo collage. The photos were pinned overlapping and were all of Boots, the beautiful black cat with the white paws: Linda sat astride a bike with a wicker basket where Boots perched on a blanket; Linda on a swing in the garden with Boots on her lap; Andrea and Linda eating breakfast in the kitchen, Boots sprawled on his back across the middle of the breakfast bar holding a piece of toast in his white paws. Linda and Andrea’s heads were thrown back laughing. There was a picture of Boots on Simon’s desk, lounging on a pile of paperwork. Despite him being in the middle of something, he had allowed Linda to take a photo of his work being disrupted. Erika began to remove the pins and take away the photos. In several of the photos, where they overlapped, a figure had either been cut out, or the end of the photo had been snipped off unevenly. Scanning the photos of family gatherings, Erika realised who the missing person was.