Connor slid from his stool. ‘Really? You’ll do that?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I can’t promise anything, but Hawkins is a good guy really. Hopefully he sees sense.’
‘Thank you,’ Connor said, wrapping his awkward and angular arms around her quickly. His voice lowered. ‘I’m scared, Pip. ’
‘It’s going to be OK.’ She attempted a smile. ‘I’ll give you a lift home on my way. Come on.’
Stepping out into the early evening, the front door got caught in a cross-breeze and slammed loudly behind them. Pip carried the sound with her, inside her, echoing around that hollow growing in her gut.
Six
The russet-brick building was just starting to lose its edges to the grey evening sky as Pip climbed out of her squat car. The white sign on the wall read: Thames Valley Police, Amersham Police Station. The policing team for Little Kilton was stationed here, at a larger town ten minutes away.
Pip walked through the main door into the blue-painted reception. There was just one man waiting inside, asleep on one of the hard metal chairs against the back wall. Pip strode up to the help desk and knocked on the glass, to get someone’s attention from the attached office. The sleeping man snorted and shuffled into a new position.
‘Hello?’ The voice emerged before its owner: the detention officer Pip had met a couple of times. The officer strolled out, slapping some papers down and then finally looking at Pip. ‘Oh, you’re not who I was expecting.’
‘Sorry,’ Pip smiled. ‘How are you, Eliza?’
‘I’m OK, love.’ Her kindly face crinkled into a smile, grey hair bunching at the collar of her uniform. ‘What brings you here this time?’
Pip liked Eliza, liked that neither of them had to pretend or dance around small talk.
‘I need to talk to DI Hawkins,’ she said. ‘Is he here?’
‘He is right now.’ Eliza chewed her pen. ‘He’s very busy though, looking to be a long night.’
‘Can you tell him it’s urgent? Please,’ Pip added.
‘Fine, see what I can do,’ Eliza sighed. ‘Take a seat, sweetheart,’ she added as she disappeared back into the office.
But Pip didn’t take a seat. Her body was humming and didn’t know how to be still right now. So she paced the width of the front desk, six steps, turn, six steps back, daring the squeak of her trainers to wake the sleeping man.
The keypad-locked door leading to the offices and interview rooms buzzed open, but it wasn’t Eliza or Richard Hawkins. It was two uniformed officers. Out first was Daniel da Silva, holding the door for another constable, Soraya Bouzidi, who was tying her tightly curled hair into a bun beneath her black peaked hat. Pip had first met them both at the police meeting in Kilton library last October, back when Daniel da Silva was a person of interest in Andie’s case. Judging by the strained, toothless smile he gave her now as he passed, he clearly hadn’t forgotten that.
But Soraya acknowledged her, throwing her a nod and a bright, ‘Hello,’ before following Daniel outside to one of the patrol cars. Pip wondered where they were going, what had called them out. Whatever it was, they must think it more important than Jamie Reynolds.
The door buzzed again, but only opened a few inches. A hand was all that appeared through it, holding up two fingers towards Pip.
‘You’ve got two minutes,’ Hawkins called, beckoning her to follow him down the corridor. She hurried over, trainers shrieking as she did, the sleeping man snorting awake behind her.
Hawkins didn’t wait to say hello, striding down the hall in front of her. He was dressed in black jeans and a new jacket, padded and dark green. Maybe he’d finally thrown out that long wool coat he’d always worn when he was lead investigator on Andie Bell’s disappearance.
‘I’m on my way out,’ he said suddenly, opening the door to Interview Room 1 and gesturing her inside. ‘So I mean it when I say two minutes. What is it?’ He closed the door behind them, leaning against it with one leg up.
Pip straightened and crossed her arms. ‘Missing person,’ she said. ‘Jamie Reynolds from Little Kilton. Case number four nine zero zero –’
‘Yeah I saw the report,’ he interrupted. ‘What about it?’
‘Why aren’t you doing anything about it?’
That caught him off guard. Hawkins made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a throat-clear, rubbing his hand across his stubbled chin. ‘I’m sure you know how it works, Pip. I won’t patronize you by explaining.’
‘He shouldn’t be filed as low risk,’ she said. ‘His family believe he’s in serious trouble.’
‘Well, family hunches aren’t one of the criteria we trust in serious police work.’
‘And what about my hunches?’ Pip said, refusing to let go of his eyes. ‘Do you trust those? I’ve known Jamie since I was nine. I saw him at Andie and Sal’s memorial before he disappeared, and something definitely felt off.’
‘I was there,’ Hawkins said. ‘It was very emotionally charged. I’m not surprised if people weren’t acting quite themselves.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Look, Pip,’ he sighed, dropping his leg and peeling away from the door. ‘Do you know how many missing persons reports we get every single day? Sometimes as many as twelve. We quite literally don’t have the time or resources to chase up every single one. Especially not with all these budget cuts. Most people return on their own within forty-eight hours. We have to prioritize.’
‘So prioritize Jamie,’ she said. ‘Trust me. Something’s wrong.’
‘I can’t do that.’ Hawkins shook his head. ‘Jamie is an adult and even his own mother admitted this isn’t out of character. Adults have a legal right to disappear if they want to. Jamie Reynolds isn’t missing; he’s just absent. He’ll be fine. And if he chooses to, he’ll be back in a few days.’
‘What if you’re wrong?’ she asked, knowing she was losing him. She couldn’t lose him. ‘What if you’re missing something, like with Sal? What if you’re wrong again?’
Hawkins winced. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish I could help but I really have to go. We’ve got an actual high-risk case: an eight-year-old who’s been abducted from her back garden. There’s just nothing I can do for Jamie. It’s the way it is, unfortunately.’ He reached down for the door handle.
‘Please,’ Pip said, the desperation in her voice surprising them both. ‘Please, I’m begging you.’
His fingers stalled. ‘I’m –’
‘Please.’ Her throat clenched like it did before she cried, breaking her voice into a million little pieces. ‘Don’t make me do this again. Please. I can’t do this again.’
Hawkins wouldn’t look at her, tightening his grip around the handle. ‘I’m sorry, Pip. My hands are tied. There’s nothing I can do.’
Outside, she stopped in the middle of the car park and looked up into the sky, clouds hiding the stars from her, hoarding them for themselves. It had just started to rain, cold droplets that stung as they fell into her open eyes. She stood there a while, watching the endless nothing of the sky, trying to listen to what her gut was telling her. She closed her eyes to hear it better. What do I do? Tell me what to do.