Sonia seemed about to say something, then closed her mouth.
‘Why did you go along the Bunky Line?’ Palmer asked.
‘To see if Bentley had taken Jodie there.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because of the farmhouse.’
‘What farmhouse?’
‘The one where the girl died.’
‘Are you referring to the Calum Sheppard case?’
Mathew nodded.
Sonia picked at a loose thread on her yellow tee-shirt. ‘But why did you say you went to the river?’
‘I… I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘And you think lying to me is the best way to achieve that?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘He was only doing what he thought was best,’ Gareth said. ‘He wasn’t trying to hurt you.’
‘Did you see anything suspicious when you walked along the Bunky Line?’ Palmer asked.
‘No.’
‘How far did you go?’
‘Up to the farmhouse.’
‘Did you look inside?’
‘No. I was too scared. My imagination kept showing me stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘Bentley with the little girl.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Tying her up. Hurting her.’
‘How long did you stay there?’
Mathew shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘What time did you get home?’
‘About half eight.’
‘And you saw Jodie in the shop around six?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s quite some time before you got back home. How long were you at the farmhouse?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Did you see anyone else along the Bunky Line?’
‘No.’
‘So, no one can verify your whereabouts between half six and half eight?’
Mathew shrugged. ‘I don’t know what anyone else saw.’
‘Prior to seeing Jodie in the shop, have you ever spoken to her or had contact with her before?’
‘No.’
‘Seen her before?’
Mathew dug his nails into the bare flesh of his leg. ‘No.’
‘Not even around town?’
‘No.’
‘In the bookshop?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know Terry Stevens?’
‘Who?’
‘Jodie’s step-father.’
Mathew’s nails drew blood, wet and sticky on his skin. Still, it was better than letting his hand loose on the table to wreak havoc. ‘Never heard of him.’
‘What about Alison Willis?’
Mathew shook his head.
‘Mathew’s told you everything he knows,’ Gareth said. ‘He clearly doesn’t know any of these people.’
Palmer shrugged. ‘Sometimes people forget. Even the minutest detail could be important in solving a case. I know it seems as if we’re going round in circles sometimes, but I can assure you we have very good reason to ask these questions.’
Mathew stood before he gouged any more of his leg. He needed to cut his nails. ‘I’m going to bed now.’
Palmer snapped his notebook shut and stood. ‘Okay. That’s all for now. If you remember anything, anything at all, get in touch.’ He handed Mathew a card with his personal number printed on it.
Mathew took the card. ‘Okay.’
Palmer glanced at the wound on his leg. ‘You’re bleeding. How did you do that?’
Mathew didn’t answer. He stared at the floor.
‘It’s nothing,’ Gareth said, filling the awkward silence. ‘Mattie does things like that to himself when he gets agitated.’
Mathew watched Palmer’s gaze fall upon his leg again. The detective’s eyes looked full of suspicion. Mathew didn’t like him. He didn’t like him one little bit.
Chapter Eleven
Alison felt as if her small terraced home had become a prison. She’d already had three reporters banging on the door asking her for a comment. The Police Liaison Officer, a lovely woman called Michelle, had advised Alison to say nothing. Alison had gladly agreed. The press were like a pack of wolves, waiting to gorge on the misery of her family.
Christine sat by the window, a cigarette in one hand, the other holding back the edge of the curtain so she could see what was going on outside. ‘There’s about half a dozen of them camped out there now.’
‘Ignore them,’ Michelle said. ‘They’re only doing their job.’
Christine puffed on her cigarette. ‘Some job. Why do they keep taking pictures of the house?’
‘I know it’s annoying, and an invasion of your privacy, but they do have their uses. Especially concerning publicity for the case.’
The doorbell rang. Christine announced that it was DS Palmer with a ‘fat dumpy guy’ she didn’t recognise.
Michelle went to the door and let the two men in. A flurry of reporters’ questions, as if blown in on the wind, followed them inside the house. DS Palmer introduced the other man as DS Corrigan.
Michelle asked the two detectives if they wanted a drink. Both requested water and then sat on the battered green sofa like two awkward uncles at a family gathering.
‘Have you got any news?’ Christine asked.
Palmer shook his head. ‘We’re really not sure what’s happened at this stage.’
Christine stubbed out her cigarette. ‘It’s been close on three days now, and you still haven’t got a clue?’
‘I wouldn’t go quite that far. But—’
‘All those cameras everywhere, and not one sighting?’
‘We’re still studying CCTV from Lassiter’s Industrial Site.’
‘What about Abbasi’s?’
‘There is footage of Jodie in the shop buying milk.’
‘Who else was in the shop with her?’ Christine asked.
‘At the time Jodie left, there were two other men and the shopkeeper.’
‘What men?’
‘Two locals. Jim Bentley and Mathew Hillock. Do you know either of them?’
Alison shook her head. ‘Never heard of them.’
‘Isn’t Hillock that simpleton who works in the Book Café with his mother?’ Christine asked. ‘The one who always wears a bloody great coat, even in the middle of summer?’
Palmer nodded. ‘He suffered some sort of brain injury when he was a child.’
‘Have you spoken to him yet?’ Alison asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘He’s confirmed that he was sitting on a bench at the end of Croft Road with Mr Bentley when Jodie walked by carrying a four-pint carton of milk.’
‘Don’t need to be Inspector Morse to work out who the prime suspect is, do you?’ Christine said. ‘I don’t understand why people like him are even allowed to walk the streets.’
‘Please don’t jump to any conclusions,’ Palmer said. ‘Being odd doesn’t necessarily make you guilty of anything.’
Corrigan took his drink from Michelle and drained it in one go. He put the glass on the coffee table. ‘DS Palmer’s right. If all offenders appeared at odds with the world, our job would be an awful lot easier. Unfortunately, most criminals look normal. Plausible. Go unnoticed in a crowd. It’s how they get away with things.’